


Thunder Calling To Lightning

by Sunflour28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Basically H and L meet on a bridge in ghost costumes after a halloween party, Bullyng, Depressed Louis, Halloween, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No Smut, Not Even a Kiss, Song: Two Ghosts (Harry Styles), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, but like he doesnt do it, hand holding though, i guess its sad, its wholesome, more like dpressing?, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26844625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflour28/pseuds/Sunflour28
Summary: Louis meets Harry for the first time when he (Louis) is stood on a bridge. It's October 31st. They're both dressed as ghosts. They both have their secrets. Maybe they can find something in each other. And maybe that thing is hope, or maybe it's a heartbeat.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Thunder Calling To Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess this does centre around depression and suicidal feelings. Don't read it if you get triggered by reference to cutting, reference to swallowing pills, reference to suicide or thoughts about it. This story gets happier the longer you read on but the first part is kinda heavy. Its largely self indulgent because what better way to write your emotions but through fiction. Hope you enjoy regardless. Let me know if you have any constructive criticism! Happy Autumn, everyone!
> 
> on tumbr and instagram I'm @sunflour28 :)

It’s quiet. The fog is shy underneath Louis’ dangling feet, barely touching him, but still thick enough to blur any sense of how high up he is. Or how far down he’ll fall.

It’s wet beneath him, that sort of subtle wet that you only feel once you sit down for long enough- with no memory of it raining.

It’s chilly. It’s October 31st and if Louis doesn’t get on it with it it’ll be November. He doesn’t feel the cold though only the ironic safety of being under the blanket of his costume.

He’s made his choice, the same one he’s made many times before. But this time he really, _really_ wants it. So he’s at the bridge, draped in an old bed sheet with only tiny eye holes guiding his thoughts and regardless of his ability to see he’s got tunnel vision. One thing on his mind.

He can’t even say he’d imagined the night going differently. He was definitely confused when he was invited to the party. As someone with only a handful of acquaintances to his name - and a fewer number of kind interactions since he'd moved- he can’t say he didn’t have reservations about the invite. But he still went. He thought maybe this would be different. A new school, a fresh start, this could be it. What everyone in movies is always talking about. So he put a homemade ghost sheet over his burgundy knit sweater and ripped skinny jeans and headed to the Halloween party with only a little bit of apprehension.

The smell of autumn lingered in between the trees on his way. A kind of peace in stark contrast with what he was met with once he arrived. The house was already booming- physically moving with the lights and sounds coming from within it.

Louis took a deep breath and held his optimism between gritted teeth- hoping that if he clenched down hard enough it wouldn’t leave him. It took all of 20 seconds for his hopes to be shattered. It took all of one “hey, that loser showed up” in a slurred accent and way too much spit for his stomach to drop to the floor. He couldn’t see the evening getting any better but maybe, he thought, it wouldn’t get worse.

He was wrong there too, sadly. You see, Louis’ moved schools not out of choice but because his therapist convinced his parents it’d be for the best. That whilst he’s trying to get to a better place mentally he should surround himself with new things, to forget the past. To forget the taunting and the shoving and the name calling of the old school halls. So far it’s not working. What no one had thought to account for during their construction of this “brilliant” plan was that people talk, and friends of friends and friends of friends of friends can keep a cycle going. So here he is- fully aware that everyone knows he’s been sectioned, that his arms are numb from the permanent sting of his cuts, that he’s been to the bridge more times than he should have and that he’s not to be trusted around pill bottles. He hates himself for it. He hates that they know and he hates himself even more for that.

He’d really hoped his ghost outfit would help him blend in, remain anonymous- maybe even help people look past him and forget he was there. But it was blatantly obvious that they knew. The looks. The whispers. The stifled laughter when his hands shook as he reached for a cup of whatever was being poured.

The kicker came around 30 minutes into the party, Louis was well acquainted with every painting on the wall that he’d been practically glued to by then and he was avoiding eye contact like his life depended on it- and it really kind of felt like it did. The rest of the party goer’s were more or less back to getting wasted on cheap spirits and sketchy drugs. But then there was an eruption of sound in the kitchen that made even Louis turn his head to the commotion. Some guy was being held up by what looked like 3 other indistinguishable boys and he- he had a knife? It didn't make sense. Until, out of nowhere, there was a pumpkin and everyone was chanting CARVE IT CARVE IT CARVE IT. So, clearly this was a tradition of some sort. It was actually kind of nice to witness the whole group joining in. Louis even kind of felt an ache in himself to feel as part of it as they all did in that moment. But it was short lived. Or well, his wish came a little too true.

“Tonight!” The hoisted up boys voice boomed above the speakers. “We were thinking of doing this differently!” The crowd cheered even though they had no clue what was to come. Or maybe they did. “Tonight!” He started again. “We’ll let the new kid carve the pumpkin.” And all eyes were now on him. And he hated it again. He had no clue where this was going. But he knew he hated it. “We’ve heard he’s very good with knives.” **Oh no**. Louis felt himself physically shrink. “You’re great with making cuts aren’t you, Tomlinson.” **Oh, no no no**. Louis’ entire thought process caved in on itself. “Maybe this time you can make it useful.” There was a chorus of cheers and rounds of laughter - hands grabbing at him to pull him towards the pumpkin. His bed sheet just about covered his painful red flush but his panic stricken eyes were still all too visible through his DIY creation. And the white fabric was turning translucent as the tears began.

So he just ran. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He just ran- until he couldn’t run away from it all any further. And so with a heaving chest and a spiralling mind he found himself bent over catching his breath right here, at the bridge. As if he were just in time for an engagement with fate.

It’s quiet now. He can only hear his heartbeat echoing in the street as he stands up from where he was sat on the edge. His trainers grip against the wet stone and Louis almost wishes he’d slip. It might be easier. Maybe he could feel less selfish about it then.

He always ends up here. And if it’s not here it’s in the bathroom with a razor pressed to his wrist, or at the cabinet with a bottle of prescription pills. He hates that this is his inevitable. That no matter how hopeful or optimistic he gets this is where he ends up. And he doesn’t want to give in to it- he wants to give himself another ending but he’s getting too tired of fighting it. Of fighting the inevitable.

He looks down instinctively, but the fog hasn’t revealed any more of the ground. His fists are clenched and tight by his side. Maybe he’s crying softly- silently. His legs are heavy, his heartbeat is pounding, and he has absolutely no sense of how much time is passing.

“Hey.” It’s so faint that he thinks he’s imagining it. He just continues to will himself to do this.

“Hey!” It’s more urgent. The hand on his ankle that follows makes him flinch. Somehow his pounding heart and racing thoughts must have drowned out this persons footsteps.

There’s a moment when Louis turns around and all he sees are wild, desperate eyes and he thinks he’s looking in the mirror. He thinks he’s already jumped and died and this is all a sick fantasy. Then he laughs - out loud- but the eyes aren’t laughing back. No, they’re filled with concern and worry. And Louis thinks _fuck, I haven’t done it yet._

“Please get down.” It’s said hastily. All he does in return is try to shake the hand off his ankle by squirming a bit, but the other person just grips tighter- and holds onto his calf too.

“Please come down. We can talk about it.” It’s a plea and Louis scoffs at it.

“Who are you?” He finally says something. “Do you even know me?” He adds. He’s quite confused by the stranger. He’d always wanted someone to care about him- even fantasised about someone saving him at the last minute- but now he feels a little inconvenienced.

“My name’s Harry, I was just at the party… I’m _so so_ sorry for what they said to you.” Everything comes out of his mouth so fast- it’s messing with Louis’ head. He can’t do much but look down at his shoes.

“It doesn’t change anything.” He whispers. He’s gone through a roller coaster of emotions in far too small of a time frame.

“I really want it to. You don’t have to do this.” Louis turns back around to the bridge and he feels Harry’s grip around his body tighten even more. It’s all so desperate and Louis doesn’t know if he’s resigned to the bridge or to Harry’s touch.

“It really feels like I do.” He doesn’t see it but he feels Harry lower his head in frustration and disappointment and he wonders who it’s aimed at.

“Please just come down and talk to me about this instead.” The air around them feels flooded with bargains and Louis feels dizzy from it. He waits for the space to become stale between them again.

“Why are you dressed as a ghost?” Louis doesn’t move from his spot as he asks the question- their paired costumes being most of the reason he thought he was going crazy when he’d first turned around. Harry thinks about it and Louis can feel his hands shaking. He wonders if it’s from fear or from the cold.

“It’s nice to be seen without being perceived.” And it’s much slower than what it was before. It’s soothing now. A slow drawl in a calmingly low register. None of them elaborate on it. They fall into a silence of mist and breathing. Eventually Harry hugs closer to Louis’ leg, clearly cold and shivering.

His head rests against Louis' knee until he murmurs “Please come down.” And he sounds just as broken as Louis feels.

So he holds out his hand and whispers, “Help.” And he’s not really sure what’s convinced him but he chalks it up to the inability to do this in-front of an audience. In hindsight, the falter in Harry’s voice that mirrored just enough of his shattered soul was probably what did it.

Harry’s hand is icy. It’s the first thing he is fully aware of since coming out to the bridge and Louis feels bad for having had him stand there for so long. He jumps down and lands with a delicate thud. He doesn’t have time to mentally laugh at the irony, he’s immediately wrapped up in a hug. The other ghost sighing into it as if he’s been holding his breath for the past hour- or however long its actually been. Louis half wonders if this is for his benefit or for the boys benefit himself. He could just be really cold. Thing is, this is all so new- the feeling of being cared for. The feeling of warmth from someone else. It’s so new to him that he isn’t sure how he feels about it, but he thinks maybe he likes it. Maybe.

“Why did _you_ dress as a ghost?” It’s whispers past his shoulder, Harry isn’t letting up from the hug just yet.

“I...” he can’t really find the words for it, but he’s trying to find fragments of whatever he can piece together fast enough for him. “I didn’t want people to know who I was or what I’d done. But they did anyway.” It’s murmured into Harry’s shoulder and his voice is wavering.

“You wanted a fresh start.” And Louis just nods into his skin, blinking out tears of confirmation. Harry’s hands are rubbing Louis’ back comfortingly now, as if he’s applying his words as a balm- kneading his hopes into every fibre of Louis’ skin. “You’ll get one.”

And Louis wishes it were true but instead he laughs.

“I don’t believe you.” He pulls back from the hug to wipe his tears away as he says it. “I keep coming back to this.” He’s looking around as if it explains everything. As if he can see his shortcomings and failures in the air surrounding him- suffocating him. “For every two steps I take forward I’m taking 12 steps back. I don’t know how to break this cycle. I know I don’t want to be here, but I am and I can’t find myself in any other eventuality. This is always how it goes. And this is always how it will go. And I hate it. I’m so tired of it. I can change my hobbies, I can change my school schedule- I can even change my goddamn school but I will always end up back here. I don’t want to be 30 and married with kids and find myself at this bridge. But I will. I can’t stop this, Harry. I can’t stop this unless _I_ stop.” His voice is broken and raw- if not shredded by the emotion of his outburst. He’s wondering how from what seemed like a pep talk he’s now back to wanting to get on that ledge. And he’s wondering why he hasn't gotten back on that ledge yet. He’s in the vacuum of headspace between wanting to lurch straight off the wet cobble stone and wanting to stay right here next to Harry, yelling, because somehow it feels better than he thinks hitting the ground would. And he knows he doesn’t really want to do the former, it’s just the only thing he knows to do, the only way he has to cope with all the feelings.

Harry steps towards him, silently linking their hands. “Can we take a walk?” Louis’ doesn’t understand the contrast between them right now but he doesn’t fight it either. Like every other time in his life he lets himself lose control and be lead away.

The next time Harry speaks it’s to the sound of rustling leaves and dripping branches.

“I think we all have that one thing that makes our heart beat. That one thing that makes it all worth it. Some people have the sun and the way anything it touches becomes golden. For others it’s love and the rosiness of its bloom. It could be the undying loyalty of your dog, if you have one, or the unwavering devotion of the changing seasons to the year. But I think _you_ need to find _your_ heartbeat.”

“Well…” Louis doesn’t really know how to respond. “What’s your heartbeat?”

“I’m not sure I’ve found mine yet.” You can hear the thought behind Harry’s words, as if he’s spent a lot of time thinking without ever having the chance to say. “And maybe that’s why we both met on a deserted bridge last night.” Louis checks his watch- yup it’s November. “For differing reasons.” He clarifies with a brief pause before continuing, “I do like thunderstorms though. I like the rain. I like how you can feel like a child playing in a puddle, how you can allow yourself to be washed away. I like that, in a thunderstorm, the universe is yelling with you. It hears you. It’s shouting back at you. I find joy in the validation. I find comfort in the destruction, in the idea that purpose and beauty don’t have to be constructive or conventional. I like that thunder is as much a part of our weather as sunshine. If not more so, because even though the sunshine is favoured thunder makes itself known. And in the interval between thunder and it’s lightning, I feel like I can find myself.” And Louis finds he doesn’t have much to say about that.

“Sounds like you’ve found your heartbeat.” He’s swinging their linked hands- mostly because it feels like he should.

“It doesn’t come around _near_ enough for it to be.” And Louis thinks he gets it. He thinks he and Harry might be a little more ‘in this together’ than he first thought.

“You understand.” He says it after a long pause. And he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. He knows Harry will get what he’s talking about. The “me” goes without saying.

“Not wholly. Not anymore than you can understand me. I get what you give me and maybe I get a little more from what I see.” Louis can feel him thinking harder as he tightens his grip around Louis’ hand. “I think I might understand _why_ more than others though.”

“It’s nice to feel that.” He looks down at the ground again. He’s testing his bravery but crawling in on himself instead. He tries though so he goes on, “It’s like the thunder. W-We’re like thunder and lightning... different but alone in it enough to get the other.” And it’s a rambled analogy- poorly explained but he hopes it makes sense enough. Harry’s better at the words but he nods along like he got what Louis meant. “Or maybe we’re just two ghosts, trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.” He laughs at himself, “We must’ve had one at some point.” And he’s about to joke over it- fill the silence with something other than his lame thoughts on heartbeats and finding purpose or whatever- but it makes Harry stop and his eyes crinkle in the way they would if he were smiling and Louis feels really proud of himself for being the one to do it. He likes the warmth that its bringing him. He also likes the warmth Harry’s hand is bringing him too. But they turn the corner and somehow they’ve found themselves two neighbourhoods over without realising.

“Sooo...” Louis starts. “My house is that one.” He nods his head in the direction to his left. They’re both lingering gingerly. Neither wants their time to be over.

“I had a really great time talking to you…“ he feels the hesitation at the end of Harry’s sentence. So he supplies a “Louis” for him. He’s feeling pretty stupid for not saying it any earlier.

“Sorry, I only had your last name from the party.” He laughs softly to himself under the bed sheet. And Louis realises they don’t even know what the other looks like. Or maybe Harry knows his face- he’s unsure.

“Thanks for the bridge thing.” It’s a little awkward to say- clunkier to hear the space in the air after. He’s back to avoiding eye contact.

“Hey, it was just thunder calling back to the lightning, no big deal.” And Harry winks. They’re both laughing at how far this analogy is being stretched. Louis is specifically laughing at how goofy Harry is for the wink.

The street lamp hitting Harry at 3 am is really making him look ghostly and Louis’ suddenly unsure if Harry IS a ghost or not. The panic sets in really fast.

“I’ll see you again right?” Harry can sense it.

“Oh yeah. I was- I was counting on it.” And he steps closer to Louis until he can pull his palm out to write 11 digits across it. Louis’ just glad he didn’t pull his sleeve up to do this. But Harry gets him like that and he’s trying not to focus on the amount of hurt shared between them at the notion of it.

“Call- or text- any time.” Harry says seriously. “We’ve got a week off school so you’ve got no excuse not to!” He tacks on light heartedly.

The electricity coursing through Louis’ bones is enough to make him explode and he can see the excitement dancing in the shine of Harry’s eyes too. He’s mentally promising himself to keep chasing that.

Their goodbye feels a lot like another hello. Like they’ve suddenly been introduced to this new feeling of wanting to hold onto something-or better _someone_.

Louis laughs silently to himself as he tiptoes past the mirror in the dark hall of his house- desperately trying not to spill his overflowing cup of excitement out in front of him and wake up his parents. He’s still wearing his costume and all he can recognise are his eyes, yet he see's more of himself than he ever has. He knows this feeling might be fleeting but he’s happy he can feel it all the same.

When he'd left for the party he'd seen a ghost in his reflection. Now, he still see's a ghost but this time its one that’s trying- _really trying_ \- to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat. And he’s hoping, _praying_ Harry can help him with that.


End file.
